Questions
by Mari83
Summary: After ”Female Trouble”: What could come out of Max confronting Logan about his attempted suicide? Starts pretty dark but will lighten up… eventually. ML of course. Now COMPLETE with a kiss.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel.

A/N: Many thanks to Shywriter for suggestions and corrections and helping me out with her huge mental thesaurus.

Despite reading this through twice before posting, I'm sure there are still mistakes left… so if you find them please tell me.

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**Fogle Towers, the anteroom in front of Logan's penthouse, 11 PM:**

Max stood in front of Logan's door, the fitting picklock from her varied collection in hand, ready to make short work of his high-end security system. Yet she hesitated, hands hovering in midair, unsure how she'd find the inhabitant of the penthouse.

_You're pathetic, Max. Taking out a whole bunch of Lydecker's goons without breaking a sweat but afraid of the reaction of one single, ordinary male._

She sighed, letting her hands drop, to lean against the massive, unquestionably very expensive red wood of Logan's door, wondering if it wouldn't be wiser to leave now while she still could.

_Right, Max, coming here was a bad idea anyway. Save yourself the trouble, go home and have a hot, relaxing bath._

_And risk having Bling find Logan dead in the morning. Bad idea._

**Twenty minutes earlier, the Space Needle:**

As so often Max had spent her late evening hours here, overlooking nightly Seattle, seeking some distance from the messed up life of a Manticore refugee. Tonight though, after the extremes of the last days, her attempt was in vain.

The craziness had started with that badly timed call of Zack. Although leading her away from a much anticipated evening with Logan, it had brought news Max had hoped for against all common sense: After giving up his freedom for her, her brother had managed the impossible and had escaped from Manticore for a second time.

And then, out of the blue, after ten years of searching, the one thing suddenly came true, that, for a long time, had been Max one and only wish: to find her siblings, the only ones like her, who could understand what it meant to live in constant fear of recapture. After a decade of wondering all the time if they were even still alive it had finally happened – in the last week her brothers and sisters had literally dropped in on her. It had been like in one of her more realistic day dreams, Max mused, an incredulous grin crossing her features: Manticore still menaced their freedom and very existence, but the united force of the X5s triumphed in the everlasting 'escape and evade' game.

With the help of Logan's Eyes Only hack Max had not only learned that Zane, Syl, Krit, Tinga, and Jondy were alive and well, but she had also been given the privilege of short catch-up meetings with Tinga and Jace. Even better, from one moment to the other she had become Aunt Max of Tinga's little son, Case. And soon, with Jace's pregnancy, there would be another niece or nephew born into freedom. The idea of her siblings having a normal, ordinary life with children and a home – as threatened as they might be – brought a look of excited happiness on Max's face.

This happy news alone would have been sufficient to shake Max's usually steady equilibrium, which – as she was well aware – was a precondition for her survival. Yet the joy about seeing her siblings had been mingled soon with a disconcerting encounter with one of the characters populating her nightmares: The mysterious doctor with the exclusive treatment to keep Logan on his feet proved to be Adrianna Vertes from Manticore, one of the perverted scientist, whose masked face still, in a twisted proof of Pavlov's experiments, flashed before Max' inner eye every time she felt physical pain.

As if all this hadn't been enough for her to deal with, in the same recent days Logan had regained the use of his legs by virtue of _her_, transfused blood – and had lost them again, also thanks to her screwed up genetics. All this courtesy the jerk who had designed her to be an universal blood donor, but, ironically, hadn't managed the same adaptability for the highly useful pluripotents flowing through her veins. It was an unwelcome reminder that she, Max Guevara, or – more fitting – X5 452, was no real human being, but was merely the whacky product of erratic scientists.

_Damn Manticore._

To distract herself from her flaws, Max turned to an evasive pattern which had proven to be increasingly effective in the last eight month: conjuring up the many different moments she had shared with Logan in quiet contentment, the many times his smile had fueled her spirits for getting through another gray and rainy Seattle day. The previous week had been especially productive in this department as being able to walk again had brought surprising changes in Logan. The obsessed crusader had gone for a holiday and in exchange an astonishingly careless, almost boyish Logan was revealed. Those memories still brought a shy smile to Max's face, accompanied with the delight she had felt at seeing his flirtatious attitude from their early relationship come back in full force. It had encouraged her hidden hope that finally, with this boost to his self-confidence, the attraction underlying their every move and word could grow into something bigger – that she and Logan could become an "us".

But no, Max brooded gloomily, trust Manticore to spoil it all. Only barely she could suppress the overwhelming, helpless fury washing over her every time her being an artificially-produced being interfered with having a real life.

_Damn, damn Manticore._

Back in the chair, Logan had again retreated into his protective shell – as if nothing had ever happened between them, as if there was nothing left to live for. As if his extraordinary self wasn't worthy of life any longer.

So, beneath that thin veneer of joy at seeing her siblings again, Max was thoroughly shaken by Logan's attempt at killing himself today. Over and over again her mind played the appalling sequences: The diagnoses of "depression" and "suicidal urges" she'd found in Dr. Vertes notes, the flashbacks to his calm vow of "I'm not gonna live my life like that" accompanying her horrified race over to Fogle Towers, hoping with all her might she wouldn't be too late… then the heart-stopping shock of seeing the ambulance in front of his house.

_Standing at Logan's grave, Bling by her side, listening to the rain's monotone rhythm on his coffin. _

Max shuddered, tightening the self-comforting hug around her knees. The mere thought of how close she had been to losing him gave her a sick feeling, the sensation only intensified by the fact that today – _almost_ – she would have entered his apartment to find the bloody mess the gun would have made of his body.

She didn't get it. Despite mulling it over repeatedly for the last several hours, for Max, Logan's being back in the chair and committing suicide just didn't hold the same inevitable connection it seemed to have for him. Max knew how much he despised being a paraplegic, could imagine how hard it must be for someone as proud as Logan to have to relearn to do even daily tasks in new ways. But despite all that, he seemed to be coping. Not exactly well, sure, but he hardly ever gave her a clue of how difficult it really was to him either. So, when the miraculous cure had failed, she had just assumed he would, somehow, deal, as he'd done before.

Now she berated herself for ignoring the signs, for not listening to Logan's determined ultimatum in the car the evening before.

_He should have told someone with more talent at deciphering human emotions._

The most frightening thing though, the one thought that topped her blood failing Logan and another narrow escape with Manticore was that today Logan hadn't stopped on his own volition. The only reason he was still alive had been the lucky-unlucky coincidence of Mrs. Moreno needing him at exactly that crucial moment. It meant Max wasn't only confronted with his past attempt but also with the very real, dreadful possibility that Logan might again try to end his life if left to his own devices. It meant she was haunted by the image of coming over one evening to find his body.

_As if I hadn't enough ingredients for nightmares._

Arms still around her knees, absently rocking herself back and forth, Max finally allowed herself to listen to this tiny voice in the back of her mind that persistently asked a very interesting question, one she wasn't sure she wanted to be answered: How in the world could he have done this to her? Leaving her alone? Logan's attempted suicide left her deeply puzzled, confused why a guy like him, who could only be described as the most altruistic person she'd ever met, could be so totally self-involved not to contemplate the consequences of his death on others – on _her_.

_Because he doesn't know how important he is to you, little Ms. 'I don't need anybody'. You never bothered to tell him._

Yet, to herself, in that best-hidden secret corner of her mind that nobody ever was meant to know existed, Max could confess that the idea of having to live without Logan was the most terrifying thought she'd ever known.

_And here I thought Manticore was my biggest problem._

With all these utterly disturbing thoughts spinning around in her head, not even the Space Needle could offer Max the tiniest bit of insight and composure. And so, after an hour of fruitless pondering, Max had climbed down from her sanctuary to make the short drive over to Logan's. Here she was now, lingering in the hallway of his apartment for a good couple of minutes already, anxious Logan might not be exactly welcoming her with open arms. His dismissive behavior that afternoon had made it very clear he wished to be alone. But then, Max reminded herself, that the prospect of being forced to wait in uncertainty until Logan managed to come out of this dangerously depressive mood – or did not – wasn't particularly tempting either. The latter idea had led her to the conclusion that it was better to take things into her own hands, better to call Logan to account about why he was willing to give up on life than to feel guilty when he finally was successful with his death-wish. Max couldn't claim she felt really comfortable with the idea of confronting Logan with his inner demons, especially since that could easily lead to a discussion about her feelings for him. Of _them_.

_Come on, Max, what is a bit of humiliating opening up_ _compared to losing Logan_?

With that last thought Max eventually picked the lock and sneaked into the penthouse.

_To be continued…_


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the kind and encouraging reviews! (Feels weird that I'm the one saying this;-p)

Again, many thanks to Shywriter for betaing, de-germanization and all the highly appreciated suggestions.

And the last thanks to Reilynn for showing me the continuity glitch in the last chapter, i. e. Max only learning of Case's existence in "Hit a Sister back". Completely missed that;-p

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**Logan's penthouse, 11:10 PM:**

Logan still sat in exactly the same spot in front of the windows where Max had left him some hours before.

After he'd broken up that desperately needed embrace, she had been at a loss about how to deal with him. Comforting someone who had tried to end his life only mere moments before was completely beyond her training and experience. So, as he'd wheeled away from her, magically drawn by the wide front window, the only thing she came up with was the lame question if, maybe, there was a chance for one of his Cale Culinary miracles. She had thought of the peace of mind he always seemed to draw from cooking, wishing this could just be another of their many comfortable evenings over one of his famous meals.

But the inadequacy of her suggestion had made Max want to bite her tongue the moment the words were out of her mouth. Logan on his part had only mumbled a disinterested "another time" that had left her staring helplessly at his subdued figure, his light grey pullover and spiky hair contrasting with the slowly darkening afternoon sky. Finally, after a few more minutes of standing around and feeling very much like a superfluous piece of furniture she had left, silently, with the overwhelming sensation that she was failing him, but no idea what else to do either – and in a serious need to clear her head.

Now, back in the quiet penthouse, she walked straight up to him, not giving her doubts about doing the right thing any chance to pipe up again, only stopping a few feet behind him.

_Keep a safe distance._

Surely he must have heard her deliberately loud steps, yet he didn't turn or show any other reaction to acknowledge her presence. Just kept showing her his back, shoulders hunched down.

So, with a deliberate intake of air, and gathering everything she could muster of trust in herself and in him – _of_ _trust in them_ – Max spoke, intent on touching Logan's most tender spots. "I haven't answered your question"

But not even the sound of her voice stirred him out of his haze of anger, despair and disappointment, and Max began to wonder if her voice had got through to him at all. She was about to repeat her words, when finally his reply came, voice utterly disinterested, dull, as if the simple act of speaking alone was to much. "Which question?"

Max swallowed, trying not to be affected by his rude behavior. Half a year ago his attitude would have sent her right out of the door without so much as a second thought. But – whether she liked it or not – Logan's deep, unrelenting concern for those around him had left an imprint on her. And so she stayed, preceding with her plan. "The one from yesterday evening." She succeeded in keeping her calm tone, despite the sensitiveness of the topic to come. "The question about whether it's _easier_ for me if you're in the chair."

His accusation had nagged at her ever since. _Does he really think I'm that shallow? _Somehow it felt good to have it out in the open – although that meant she actually had to give him an honest answer now.

But no, he blocked it off, replying in the same hollow, emotionless voice as before. "You don't have to answer it." Still not acknowledging her presence, Logan's gaze focused onto some undefined point of the spotless window glass.

"What if I want an answer?" Max countered and – though slowly but steadily she was getting annoyed with being the object of his avoidance – her tone didn't waver from the quiet, patient tone she considered the right one for someone in such a precarious state as his. _Making me_ _talk to his back._ _Who does he think he is?_ But, right now, her worry still was stronger. True, he hadn't shot himself, wasn't dead, but this lethargic non-responsiveness wasn't like the Logan she knew, either. She wanted him back with all his lovingly complex, contradictory facets: the wonderful caring Logan, who cooked for for her and kept an extra bottle of tryptophan; the vulnerable, lonely man behind the mask that hardly ever was visible – hell, even the obsessed, driven 'saving the world' Logan, who drove her mad with his neglect of anything but Eyes Only. Anything but this detached passivity.

So, with her first plan failing, Max searched her mind frantically for something – anything – to say that would get Logan out of this self-destructive apathy. A moment passed, the heavy silence becoming more depressing with each fading second. Then, almost like on auto-drive, some reckless part of her decided to bring up the topic that had bothered her ever since the shooting, but which she never had the guts to approach. "You need to answer me a question first, though."

That got a reaction. Logan spun around with such a startling, unexpected vehemence Max had to hold onto herself not to step back. He was clearly angry with her insistence, his face holding nothing of the warm, pleased smile with which he usually welcomed her. Not letting her any chance to act on this sudden change of demeanor, Logan spoke, lashing out at her with biting, cold ferocity. "Yes, Max, I was going to put a bullet through my brain. Is that what you wanted to hear? Are you satisfied now?"

Angry now herself, Max shot back, her voice icy. "Thank you, Logan, for being kind enough to inform me about this minor little detail of your …life." The word lingered in the air for an instant, another reminder of how – almost – the day had ended. "But that I knew already. Doctor Vertes' files made sure of it. Not to mention this nice specimen of a Vector decorating your desk, when I came in."

They stared at each other, defiant, irritated – hurt… and with an exasperated inward sigh Max wondered exactly why their arguments always escalated like that.

_Not like it's my fault. But still..._

"I'm sorry." Their apologies came out almost simultaneously, breaking their intense eye contact. Logan's gaze drifted away from her again, slipping back into that frightening, gloomy aloofness. Watching him in so uncharacteristic defeat Max felt the urge to take Logan by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. _If only it was that easy… _Another sigh, this timeclearlyaudible in the eerie silence created by the absence of the usually ever-present hum of his computers. Max knew very well he'd rather be alone at the moment, but wasn't willing to succumb once more to his wordless way of shoving her out of the apartment – when she would spend her time worrying about him anyway.

And somehow he must have sensed her determination, something in her posture telling him she wouldn't leave before she got at least some explanation. There was a weary look and a sigh, before, eventually, he capitulated, if only to get rid of her afterward. "What was it, then, you wanted to ask?"

_Here it comes, Max. _

"I…I'd like to know why…" She stopped, then started anew, forcing herself to get out the deciding words before her more sensible side had a chance to kick in. "…why you stopped trying to romance me, flirting like a madman…?"

Now she had his full attention as he gaped at her blankly, the pain over his failing legs momentarily forgotten with her unexpected query.

Taking a deep breath that was meant to steady her suddenly very unreliable voice, Max continued, gaze flickering nervously between the floor and Logan's distractingly beautiful face. "When we first meet I felt this strong… thing going on between us. Won't say it wasn't from my side too – I was attracted, fascinated by you, no question. But at the same time… I was scared like hell that somebody found out my secret." Her voice became distant, reflective as she remembered those highly confusing days after she had dropped in through his skylight. "Logan, you were the first person out of Manticore ever to know who I really was and it frightened me enough to be close to packing my things and leaving Seattle… But you…"

Max paused, throwing him a scrutinizing look and, seeing that he still was completely dazed by the turn of their conversation, continued. "You were so set on discovering who I really was. It was almost an obsession. Using your hacking abilities to find out that I worked at Jam Pony. Going there to bribe Normal…", she had started to use her fingers to count down all the effort he'd made to see her again, "stalking me at Crash, breaking into my flat and leaving me Bast. Stealing my one and only bottle of tryptophan, the chemical I depend on to survive."

Her tone had sharpened considerably, hurt and accusation tinting her words. But at least, as she noted with a great deal of relief, they had had an effect, had gotten through to him. With a cringe, Logan's stony, mask-like expression had dissolved and, though his eyes were avoiding hers, Max thought she could make out something like shame and embarrassment on his face.

Not giving him any chance to interrupt, Max carried on, finding it an oddly freeing experience not to dance around things for once. "So, Logan, what was all this effort for? Was it freaky curiosity at seeing a real chimera? Or was it all about making me play bodyguard for Lauren and Sophy? Was _I _only a means for your glorious attempts at making the world a little better? Tell me Logan, what was it?" She spat out the last, every word oozing with bitter sarcasm.

He still hadn't moved, just sat there, mouth slightly open, yet unable speak, overwhelmed by her outburst. Shocked by the sudden impact of the very subject, that – though ever-present beneath the surface – normally was left unsaid between them.

"The only things you are obsessed with nowadays are saving the world and walking." The accusation came out with sharp anger, which, by now, she didn't bother to keep out of her voice. It was a much safer emotion than the harsh disappointment she felt after those last days with him, when he first got her hopes up, again treating her like the most desirable woman on earth – only to let her down the very moment his legs started to fail.

_What did I do wrong, Logan? What made you think I'd feel any different just because you're back in the chair?_

The object of her ire still was dumbstruck, though by now, the formerly stupefied expression had been replaced by one of clear uneasiness. Max waited for another instant, gaze steely, guarded to see if maybe he had the grace to answer. No reply forthcoming, her hands were clenched into fists as she tried to reign in the anger and hurt at his lack of respond to her emotional outburst. "Fine, Logan. I understand." She gave him a final, hard look before uttering what were meant to be her parting words. "Call if you need me for some legwork. Don't want it to be my fault if the world comes to an end."

Max turned, well aware of Logan's flinching at her deliberate use of their code word for Eyes Only jobs, but, at this very moment, not caring in the least.

_Yeah, well. You hurt me, I hurt you. That's life. And face it, Logan, I could say much worse things to make up for what you tried to do today. _

She rushed for the door, only wanting to get out, away from this place. Away from him. Completely engaged in a bitter, calm rage, Max wondered how in the world she could have missed all his subtle little signals that he didn't care, didn't want them to be "like that" – berated herself for being so naïve to assume that there could be something like love between the high and mighty cyber-journalist and the genetically enhanced killing machine. And with a sudden, aching pang she realized that the only way not to let Logan hurt her any further was staying away from him altogether.

She was just about to reach for the door handle when his voice stopped her.

"Max…" A sigh. "You're right."

….To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Dark Angel.

A/N: Many thanks to Shywriter for betaing, suggestions and making me think over my view of Logan.

And of course many thanks for all the reviews:-)

Extra points to those who find the quote from Simon and Garfunkel's "Richard Cory";-)

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**Logan's penthouse, 11:30 PM**

"You're right"

Slowly Max turned, face controlled, watching him warily from the distance. Her hand lingered on the cool metal of the door handle, still more than ready to leave.

He'd swiveled the chair around to watch her evenly, eyes expressionless. The mask was back in place. "Of course I was thrilled to find out one of the wilder urban myths was true. Call it professional curiosity." His admission came with a shrug, his tone musing but cool, as if explaining why to choose a special wine to go with dinner. "And yes, getting better protection for Lauren and Sophy was another motive for finding you. They trusted me with their very lives, Max, I had to do everything in my power to ensure their safety."

His voice had changed and now had that gripping intensity which reminded her very much of the lecture from months ago about the lost world of vacation-planning in cafés and two thousand dollar wristwatches. He seemed to search for her understanding for his behavior – and, although Max had to admit that his motives were logical, even noble, from a certain point of view, forgiveness was the last thing she could give him at this moment. Her face hardening to cover her growing confusion Max wondered why in the world he told her this. Had he just called her back to confirm her accusations that she was only a means to an end?

_Stupid girl… thinking you could be more for him than a handy cat-burglar._

However, before Max found the resolve to turn her death grip on the door handle into the downward movement required to open the door, Logan spoke again. "But there's always been more." A minute smile showed on his face, more a relaxation of his features – but, to Max, it felt like a big victory. This was him, Logan, the man behind the mask and not merely Eyes Only justifying one his operations. "Peter, he knew right away and he teased me about it." That little, almost unperceivable smile took on a wistful note at the memory of his friend who had given his life for the cause of Eyes Only.

Hesitantly, Max released her hold of the door handle and walked back into the living room area where she sat on the edge of his expensive sofa, tentatively._ Maybe… just maybe something could come out of this…_ Logan turned with her; the small gesture a subtle message that, despite his earlier clear wish for undisturbed solitude, he was relieved at her decision to stay.

"I didn't have to lie, Max, in front of the mirror that time, when I said you had the most singularly beautiful face I'd ever seen. The most beautiful face for to the most fascinating person I've ever met." He was looking at her, and yet he wasn't, his glassy gaze going right through her. The smile was still visible as Logan's voice took on an absent, almost dreamlike quality, recalling the happy memories of an irrevocable past.

This little display of emotion showed more openness than she'd seen from him for the whole evening. And it was this change from guarded anger to melancholy that weakened something in Max. It wasn't like the hurt she'd felt about his thoroughly self-involved behavior was gone, or that the distinct feeling that he owed her an apology for treating her like that had disappeared… but they weren't that pressing any more. Instead there was affectionate tenderness for him – and a good deal of hatred for those who'd done this to him.

For a moment, Max averted her face towards the windows, not wanting him to see how, with a simple smile, he could trigger such contradictory sentiments in her. Even less, though, did she want Logan to see how that ever-gnawing feeling of failure at not preventing the shooting had just increased into one of disgusted self-loathing. _It's all your fault that he's in the chair at all. Stupid. Selfish…_

_Inhuman?_

It was that last notion that, perhaps, her selfishness was a genetically given trait which bothered Max the most as she sat there gazing out of the windows, absently noting that it had started to rain. _How fitting._

After another minute of quiet contemplation Max felt controlled enough to turn back to Logan. She didn't want to break the spell he seemed to be under, only to bring him back into harsh reality – but she needed to. So she took up their conversation where he'd left it, her voice gentle and calm, never revealing how much she hated to destroy his moment of peace. "So tell me, Logan, what was it then that made you stop flirting?"

She was pretty sure she knew the answer, the reason why his easygoing, flirtatious side had disappeared almost completely. It had disappeared but for those rare moments, when, surprisingly, he forgot everything except the 'You woman, I man'-connection and bestowed on her that dangerously flirtatious, dazzling smile that triggered a whole chain-reaction of clichéd responses in Max. But even knowing the reason for this change of behavior she still wanted to hear it from him. Instinctively Max knew that once he told her why he was feeling so unworthy of attention and it was out in the open between them, fighting his issues would be much easier than it was with his usual, subtle hints, which always left her feeling helpless.

But that wasn't going to happen, Max realized with an inward sigh. He wasn't going to elaborate on the reasons why his body had turned from being a well-oiled machine to a source of embarrassment. At her question Logan had flinched, his faraway gaze suddenly focusing on her with an almost hostile expression that made his eyes narrow. Taken aback, Max thought for an instant he would explode again like earlier when she had intruded into his brooding solitude. But then his answer came, cool and controlled, only a defiant petulance in his tone telling her that she'd hit a nerve. "That's pretty much obvious now, isn't it?"

So _she_ had to do it, had to voice all the things which he was afraid to say… afraid herself that he might hate her for it. But she had to… "If you only hint at your injury, and all that comes with it, no Logan, it's not as obvious for me as you seem to think." Annoyed with his lack of cooperation Max wanted set him straight, then forced herself to lend her voice a gentler note, reminding herself how difficult the situation must be for him. "I know your body has changed. What I can't understand is why it changed your..", she stopped, swallowing down the 'feelings' that almost had made the way out of her mouth, "…your attitude towards me. 'We aren't like that.' You said it yourself, remember, Logan, that evening after you rescued me and Hannah."

_After that debacle with Eric. _

She'd paused, frowning at the reminder of her own failures, then shrugged it off, to come back to the equally complicated yet less personal topic of Logan and his issues. "I thought about it, especially after these past few days, but…honestly I just can't see why that chair came with an on-off switch for your Romeo side." Involuntarily her voice had increased in volume at her uncomprehending exasperation with his inexplicable behavior, then took a begging tone as she remembered that pissing him of wasn't the best way to get an explanation. "So, please Logan, tell me what has changed? Why can't you flirt while in the chair?"

No answer. Embarrassed by her bluntness, Logan simply avoided her gaze by staring down to his lap with a pained expression.

After watching him for another minute, Max too averted her gaze too, suddenly feeling exhausted by all this emotional commotion. With growing tiredness she wondered if maybe she'd gone too far, if this 'make Logan talk'-thing was a bad idea after all… And there was no going back, Max realized with sudden consternation. Things couldn't just go back to 'normal' again, not after Logan's attempt at killing himself… not after her open admission of the attraction between them.

_If he tells me to go now, it's over._

The uncomfortable pause in their conversation lengthened and was filled with an almost palpable tension as neither of them knew what to say. One part of Max wanted only to get out of there, had the sole wish to rush out of the penthouse to some place – any place – where the air wasn't so loaded with those unspoken emotions that might erupt any moment. Yet, at the same time, she felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the cushions, limbs heavy, anxious that any movement might awake him from his contemplations. And then… would he tell her to go?

Finally, after an almost infinite stretch of time, Logan's voice, calm and distant, broke the silence. "I discovered pretty early that girls considered me attractive. … I never really understood what they found so special about me, and I'm not particularly proud of it… but somehow their attention gave me confidence.

Max's head had jerked up, startled out of her own ponderings. With a great deal of relief she registered that, although still not looking at her, he seemed willing to _really_ talk now. She stayed mute, though, as her insecurity about how to handle the situation only was increased by the topic he'd chosen.

"Maybe… it had something to do with loosing my parents so early." Tone musing, Logan plunged deeper into his past. "I always liked school… Had friends, was good at everything, joined a lot of clubs… but after their death…" He stopped for a short upward glance, as if only now remembering her presence. "My mother died when I was nine, my father two years later… Somehow, losing them made me grow up earlier, gave me a serious air that set me apart from the other kids..." A rueful smirk appeared on Logan's face at the memories of his teenage years in a world that nowadays, after the Pulse, almost seemed unreal. "Thing is, some years later this seriousness… it seemed to be a magnet to girls."

Max only nodded not wanting to disturb his trance-like state.

"I always had a bunch of girls swarming around me. Doesn't mean I didn't have my share of broken hearts…", he frowned, "but this was one part of my life where I didn't have to constantly fight for attention.

"Bet your being an extraordinarily handsome guy had nothing do with it." Her reply had come unthinking, together with an affectionate smile at the picture of a lankier and younger version of Logan. And, somehow, it seemed okay to comment on his memories of a faraway youth. In response, Logan's features lightened up for quick, boyish smile, contrite yet pleased. Apparently he had no problem at being complimented about his good looks if it referred only to the time before the shooting. His illogical reaction, the inconsistency of his sense of attractiveness, provoked an irrational, itching desire in Max to take him by the shoulders and shake some sense into his stubborn head.

The smile then disappeared in a frown as Logan remembered his former self: rich playboy Cale who had everything a man could want. A person whom Max had barely known – and for whom, despite all her attraction, she hadn't found much liking.

"I know it's shallow… but I welcomed this confirmation from the female side, when my family, or what was left of it…" He hesitated, just for a second, but in this short time-span there it was again, that sadness appearing every time he mentioned the loss of his parents, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. "… when Jonas and Margo always belittled me, no matter how good my grades were, how hard I tried to please them. Maybe… that's why I started Eyes Only. Playing superhero, get the attention and gratification I couldn't get in my real life." A short, humorless snort, then he fixated her eyes with an unrelenting stare to add a cynical. "You see, Max? I'm nothing but selfish rich brat."

Max opened her mouth to contradict him, as the idea of the altruistic Logan accusing himself of selfishness sounded almost ridiculous to her. However, interrupting him now would be wrong. She needed to let him finish what she had started. So, keeping up their eye contact, her only reaction was a tiny nod to encourage him to go on.

Logan sighed, closing his eyes for an instant. When he opened them again there was no sarcasm left, only sadness… and disapproving shame for the person he'd become. "And now, look at me, what am I worth like this? I'm nothing now. I can see it every time I go out in the faces of those around. 'He's just some broken guy' or 'Keep away from that cripple, kid, maybe he's contagious'." He wavered, taking a deep breath to calm down. "See, I'm… I'm used to Uncle Jonas looking at me like I'm not worth the bother. Okay, fine, I can live with that... but… to see that look everywhere I go, that's just…"

He'd managed to look at her all the while until then, although it seemed like the one thing he wished for right now was to vanish in thin air. But meeting her eyes during this open display of emotions was too much… Or, maybe…Max's attempt to show her acceptance wasn't enough… Whatever it was, Logan eyes were once more directed to the safe territory of his windows. His withdrawal left Max with a disturbing feeling of helplessness and failure.

Viciously gripping the wheels of his chair as if it was an evil to be destroyed, Logan continued to state the facts of his life, his voice strangled by the attempt to stay in control of his emotions. "And women… women either look away when they see me… or they treat me like an old man, an invalid."

While he rushed on, not pausing a beat to steer their conversation away from this highly intimate topic, Max pondered how much good it would do to just rush over and assure him of his attractiveness in every way she knew…

"My family, except for Bennett, is disgusted with me. For some reason they think the shooting was my own stupid fault, just like everything else was my own stupid fault, for my whole entire life. And they're right. Had I planned it all properly, all this wouldn't have happened. Sophie wouldn't have had to go through that nightmare, Peter would still be alive, and I…", a frustrated wave to his lower half, "…I could achieve so much more than now, half-dead like this." His raised hand was balled into a fist and then lowered in abrupt downward movement as if he was going to smash it down forcefully onto his thigh. However, as if reminding himself that _he_ didn't scream or rage, instead his hand was opened in a helpless gesture and carefully placed onto his wheel. Then, with a shaky breath and eyes still focused on his lap, he finally let her in on how it was like to be Logan Cale. "I'm… I'm a big, ugly failure, Max."

_You are everything but._

But, instead of letting him hear the first thing that had come to her mind at his crazy self-incrimination, Max just sat there, confused and speechless at how complex his insecurities were. Of course she knew that his family considered him their black sheep, and had seen how they used every opportunity to make him feel inferior… but still, the vehemence of his self-hatred surprised Max. For her, he indeed was some kind of crazy superhero. True, his motives were still hard to grasp for someone who'd been raised not to give a damn about the weak, and his mixed up priorities were a constant source of annoyance… yet for Max, there had never been a question that his driven determination, his unrelenting endurance in dedicating his life to _others_ deserved her genuine admiration. She admired him for what he did – and yet, in her egocentric role of 'I don't care for anybody'-Max, she'd failed to show Logan exactly that.

She'd never told him that for Sketchy, Eyes Only was right up there with Superman.

Suddenly aware that she'd been quiet for too long, Max responded, in a voice that was full of stern chiding and mild affection. "You are many things, Logan… many things to me…" The last was only a whisper, barely audible, but it gave Max a disconcerting feeling of vulnerable exposedness. "But in no way are you a 'failure'". It was the most honest answer she could come up with – but what could her words now possibly mean, standing against months of pretended indifference towards his work – towards him?

He looked over to her, with the same sad, unbelieving expression that she would have received had she told him that walking on water was possible if only he'd try hard enough. He wanted to believe her – but he couldn't.

Max didn't know what else she could do. As she tipped her head down in order to avoid Logan's intense, melancholic look – a look she couldn't stand any longer – a grim, cynical smile showed on her face at the irony of the situation. She knew dozens of ways to kill somebody, but stopping a single person from killing himself was beyond her.

_Bling__should be here with him, not me… someone who knows how to be comforting. _She considered calling the therapist for an instant, but then dismissed that option as she realized that, by forcing him to talk, _she_ had taken on a responsibility.

After a moment that seemed too long, as, with every fading second, Logan drifted further away from her and deeper into that gloomy brooding, her practical side kicked in, deciding that she could only tackle one thing at a time. "But… Logan, you still are attractive and sexy and desirable and every other term in that category. Why can't you see that? Even Cindy says so!" Her tone had gotten a pleading quality, mirroring Max's acute awareness about how important it was to reach him now that he finally had opened up. This was her one chance. If she failed now… she didn't know what would be then…

"Max …don't" There was so much in these two words: Genuine gratitude for her attempts at making him feel better; the deep conviction that, while paralyzed, he couldn't be a whole, worthy person… and, more hidden, the wistful air of someone, who with all his heart wished to have something that was completely and painfully out of reach.

Seemingly untroubled by his answer she observed him, never revealing that her calm, self-assured façade wasn't far from cracking.

_What is it Logan? Wishing to be desirable to women? Or…to me?_

The thought distracted her for an instant. It was yet another disturbing reminder that she was in way too deep with Logan Cale. He was the one and only human being whom she considered her equal, he with all his wit and intelligence, his unlimited concern and all the other contradictions and character traits that made him so special. He was the one person who over time had stirred feelings in her that, in their intensity, were paralleled only by those she harbored for her siblings. No way would she escape his rejection unscathed. And there'd been nothing that told her he wouldn't eventually decide to reject her. He still hadn't revealed how much emotional attachment this 'more' included. What if he got over his issues only to see that there were other – normal – women out there, only too willing to start a romance with one of Seattle's finest?

However, if Logan's life was at stake, what did the question of their relationship matter? Again Max put all selfish motives aside, reminding herself that, for once, she needed to provide the assuring stability to him that he normally showed towards her. She was well aware that nothing she might say could change his thoroughly messed up image of himself. Most probably everything she told him about being the same person, chair or no chair, would only scratch the surface and wouldn't have much impact on years of indoctrination – but she needed to try anyway. What else was she to do?

Another moment of silence passed as she roamed her mind for the right words. Then, her voice conveying every bit of understanding she could muster, Max once more reached out for him. "Logan… I won't deny that some people only see you as some guy in a wheelchair now, that they look down at you." He flinched, unable to fully hide the burning shame at hearing the bleak truth out of her mouth. Max sighed inwardly, hurting for him and once more cursing Bruno Anselmo. "I noticed those stares, too, Logan, and it must be so hard to deal with."

She too had registered the curious, pitying ogling that was cast into his direction – and, in silent fury, had suppressed the overwhelming wish to smack some sense in every single person who dared to judge Logan Cale, the most caring person she'd ever met, solely by his means of transportation. For a second, she considered to just let the topic drop as he avoided her gaze, eyes almost shut in his embarrassment over her witnessing the reason why, these days, he preferred the private safety of his penthouse. Maybe it was better spare him the pain that her words so obviously caused… However, telling him that she'd observed all the whack reactions – and didn't share his embarrassment – was the only way to show him that, for her, all this didn't matter.

Unsure Logan would hear her at all, Max continued, hoping he trusted her enough to see the world through her eyes. "But don't tell me you haven't seen the other kind of stares, too, those admiring females trying to get your attention. How in the world could you misinterpret those?"

Unintentionally the last had come out with a good deal of exasperation. Max always had been acutely aware of every adoring glance Logan's appearance had provoked on the streets. They were an unwelcome reminder that, although it was a lot safer to ignore her feelings for Logan, someday it might be too late: he might find somebody else and move on – without her.

Eyes still cast down, Logan only shrugged, his whole bearing a silent plea to her to stop talking. Of course Max registered it – but she spoke nevertheless, voice soft, hoping he would understand that she intended to help him, not to make things worse. "And I won't deny either that my behavior somehow changed after the shooting."

She paused, trying in vain to get eye contact to make sure he was listening to this next crucial point of her explanations. "But _not_ because I wasn't attracted to you any more." Max allowed herself a little private smile as she remembered walking in at the end of one of his training sessions with Bling and found a hot and sweaty Logan who nearly had been her undoing.

"It was not the chair." Her confirmation was repeated once more… perhaps that was the way to get through his thick skull. "It was not you being a paraplegic," – another flinching at the word he despised so much "but how you dealt with your injury, dealt with _me_ after the shooting. You set new rules for our relationship, and I accepted them because not having to deal with all this weird chemistry between us made things easier for me, was less confusing."

Again no reaction from Logan. He forced Max to get out her last weapon. Quiet now, she admitted her own insecurities that were adding yet another complication to this highly complex relationship of theirs. "I grew up in a laboratory, Logan, with soldiers and scientists as my role models. How in the world do you expect me to know about the subtleties of human courtship?"

He finally looked over to her at the mentioning of Manticore, his expression one of puzzled surprise as her feelings of inadequacy were something that, seemingly, had never come to his mind before. Max noted it with relief… and with satisfaction.

_Maybe… he sees me as being just like any other woman after all…_

Strengthened by his reaction, Max went on, intent on using this opportunity of having his undivided attention. With a great deal of exasperation tinting her voice, she told him all the things that should have been utterly obvious to him, but obviously weren't. "How could you think I wasn't interested? Hell, Logan, I came back to you, even though you and your crazy plans for me being Eyes Only's secret weapon for saving the world could easily get me killed. I could've just as well called Lydecker and told him where he could find me. I choose to risk my freedom for seeing you again. Isn't _that_ proof enough that I was madly attracted to you?"

He'd stared at her at through her speech, while his expression changed from careful interest to the pondering surprise of someone who, for the first time, saw things from a different angle. She'd stunned him again… and yet, it seemed like nothing she could say was enough to make him break this whacky, self-imposed silence for a second time.

But, at least, she wasn't ignored again. Her answer was accepted by a simple nod, neither rejecting nor affirming what she'd said. Once more, Logan was silent as his eyes were drawn to the glimmering pattern of raindrops on the window-glass, brightened by random beams of light. However, it wasn't the heavy, almost hostile silence with which she'd been confronted upon entering the apartment, but just Logan, lost in thought, now that everything had been said. It wasn't much; he still hadn't told her what he really felt about her…. And yet, this subtle change of atmosphere gave Max hope that saying practically everything but the final "I love you" had cracked that foolish-but-safe attitude which, by enabling him not to display _any_ human weakness, prevented him from having a real life.

Watching him musingly, Max allowed herself to ease back into the sofa and to stretch out her stiff legs, releasing the tension of this nerve-wrecking evening. With her anger gone and her worries eased, Max now could really see how exhausted Logan looked. Face pale and eyes shadowed his appearance held nothing of the immense energy that normally radiated from him and drew everybody around into his spell. This lingering apathy made her realize that his desperate struggle to stay on his legs with all his willpower, hadn't only been an immense emotional burden. His body, too, had gone through a lot: it had been in a literal battle with itself, first burning up every bit of available energy to build up nerves and muscles, only to dissolve them again, in just a matter of days. Now Logan was plainly and utterly drained, left with no reserves to carry on.

To see the mighty Eyes Only – the man whose efforts made a difference every day – so defeated and fatigued, loosened Max's last restrains allowing her to keep her distance. Without bothering to think about what she was doing, following a primordial instinct she didn't even know she possessed, Max covered the few feet between them to kneel down by his side and embrace him – just as she had done earlier today when she had found him, _alive_. For a split second she was afraid he would reject her, but then, as his chin was tipped down gingerly onto her head, Logan's arms came around her. However, it was nothing like the desperate, fierce hug they had shared that afternoon. It almost seemed as if he didn't find the strength for more. His weary, lethargic movements reminded Max once more how close she had been to losing him.

They stayed like that for a long time, each of them losing track of time, Max listening to the steady rhythm of Logan's heart, Logan taking comfort in her warm body, as he slowly let go of the tension of the past days.

... to be continued…


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: See previous chapters…

**Big thanks…**

…. to Shywr1ter for betaing and suggestions for both content and streamlining (Of course all remaining mistakes are mine)

…for all the great reviews:-)

…and not to forget: Thanks to Reilynn for her impressive calculation of the timeline in 'Female Trouble' which my poor un-mathematical brain never could have done itself.

The following – obviously – is from Logan's perspective and unfortunately messes up the chronological order of the chapters. I'm sorry if anybody is confused by this, originally this story was intended to be from Max's point of view only.

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**Logan's apartment, 2: 10 PM**

"This is gonna be okay." That was what she told him, only a minute after dropping the bomb that Dr. Vertes was dead and with her, any chance for him of staying out of the chair. Her voice had been soothing and underlined by a faint, sad smile, but like his answer, that smirked "yeah" it had lacked conviction.

With those words and a last, worried look over her shoulder, she disappeared from his view, seeming to doubt the wisdom of leaving him alone but unable to argue with the necessity of retrieving his files from Vertes' before Lydecker would find them.

Logan listened attentively to the noises of Max's retreat until he heard the sharp, metallic noise of the front door being closed. Only then he allowed the impact of Vertes death to show as his blank expression was undermined by his shoulders slowly sagging forward and his elbows seeking support on his knees.

He would never walk again.

Head resting heavily on his hands to fight the dizzy feeling of struggling against sleep and the accompanying parade of nightmares, Logan numbly gazed at the now empty spot by the door where Max's absence was marked by the undisturbed glow of late-afternoon sun on polished hardwood.

The apartment felt empty without her, lifeless, as if she were his only connection to the world outside of his walls… and still, sending her away had been the right thing to do. Had she stayed around any longer, his calm, stoic mask might have slipped and given Max a glimpse of who he really was: Only a faint, sorry specter of the man full of energy and determination she had barely gotten to know before Bruno's bullet had rendered him a cripple. Then the inevitable would have happened: her concerned expression would have changed into one of pity, maybe even of revulsion at his pathetic state; she would have turned and walked out of the door, no longer thinking of him as the fairly independent computer-wizard who was able to save the day with his hacking skills but from now on regarding him as a helpless invalid, unable to deal with life.

Sure, her statement had sounded ridiculously superficial to him – but how could he blame her for being unaware about the true extent of his depression when it was he who had shut her out at the first signs of the cure being not permanent?

Not wanting to give her any opportunity to pity him, he hadn't told Max that over the last few days he'd been constantly in pain, an ever-present throbbing and pounding in the same part of his body that that had been dead to sensation for the past months. The pain felt like a cruel mockery, a last, cynical parting-shot from his messed-up nervous system – and still, even though the piercing aches made Logan dig his nails into his palms when he was alone and unobserved, he appreciated the pain as being the lesser of two evils, as a sign that at least something was still working. He had welcomed it – while at the same time, in an unhinging confusing of fear and anticipation Logan had thought he would go crazy when every step of his weakening legs had sent piercing flashes through his whole body, from head to toe. The pain was depleting his body, leaving him in state of utter exhaustion of which he hadn't even known it existed before those excruciating weeks immediately after the shooting.

There was no difference between then and now, Logan tiredly concluded as he lifted a hand to massage his achy back. The result would be the same: he was consuming his energy battling through pain and fatigue, only to be left with aching arms and stiff shoulders which felt like those of someone decades older.

Logan had fought the weakness in his legs with all his willpower and every bit of endurance he could muster, hoping against all odds that it would be a merely momentary setback. He had hidden his pain as best as he could, succeeding in fooling Max, to whom the signs seemed to be lost, maybe because she didn't know them or because of the distance he had forced between them with his harsh behavior. With Bling however, it hadn't been that easy, as the trainer's vast medical knowledge and long experience with spinal chord damage had let him see straight through Logan's pretenses. In quiet concern his friend had repeatedly held out a bottle of heavy painkillers in front of Logan, an offer which Logan had turned down just as repeatedly, each time stubbornly avoiding his friend's eyes and the worried look he knew he would find there. No painkillers. They would only prematurely establish that dreaded numbness, which slowly but inevitably was creeping up on him anyway, bit by bit. Painkillers would only bring closer the moment when his lower body would be reduced to a useless appendage again that didn't seem to belong to him, but still demanded to be treated with consideration and care which contradicted the embarrassment and revulsion Logan felt for it.

How could he trust Max to comprehend what he was going through and maybe even find a bit of the old Logan beneath this mess, when all he could see himself was a person who wasn't worth the bother, a complete failure?

Taking off his glasses for moment to slowly rub a hand over his bleary eyes, Logan shooed away the ridiculous idea that opening up to Max wouldn't have scared her away. No, hiding his weakness had been the right decision. After all, how could she possibly understand what it was like in this defeated body of his, she who never slept and always was bouncing with energy. Max seemed to enjoy her life despite all the depressing facts pulling her down: doing dull work for a cranky boss because everything more challenging required a degree or experience or both, and might bring her attention from the wrong places, living illegally in a dingy apartment-block in a run-down part of Seattle, being confronted with the possibility that Manticore might catch her any minute to put her back in their oversized cage…

Logan was glad that Max seemed to have found something like contentment, even happiness, after all she had gone through. For himself though such things didn't seem possible anymore. Whatever mirth Max seemed to find – in a night of partying with her friends at Crash, in a speedy bike ride, in a simple meal prepared in anticipation of her pleased, contagious smile – Logan couldn't share it any longer. All he could see was misery and corruption, poverty and indifference dominating everything around him, ridiculing the work of Eyes Only.

What a foolish notion it had been to think that he could fight all these evils and make the world a better place, he, a guy in a wheelchair. It had been a futile fight from the beginning, Logan knew this now. But in his ridiculous idealism he had dedicated his life to Eyes Only, spending day after day researching the ways of Seattle's crime syndicates.

The chair hadn't diminished his intensity. In contrary, being the guy who safely sat at home, while ordering others around to do all the countless dangerous tasks he could no longer perform himself had only increased Logan's obsession with his work – as if depriving himself of sleep and human contact was a way to make up for his physical inadequacy. Of course his self-destructive overcompensation hadn't worked. At the end of the day, when he eventually succumbed to this all-consuming fatigue for a few hours of sleep that were too less to leave him rested but too long given the enormity of his mission, nothing had changed.

How could she tell him that things were going to be okay? Nothing was going to be okay, not the world, not Seattle and not him. Least of all him. All he had left after Vertes' death was a body that was drained from days of pain, of forcing weakening muscles to move, of delaying sleep to cherish every lasting instant of sensation. His body screamed at him to get some rest…

…and if it was the eternal kind – who cared?

As if in a trance, Logan moved away from the sun-flooded living room area to the relative darkness of his office where he examined his high-end computer equipment as if it belonged to somebody else. This was the command center of the mighty Eyes Only, where he had always done a last check-in before going out on a mission, back when he had been a whole, functioning person. In a ritual borne out of caution, in his attempt to minimize the dangers by being well-prepared, he would come in here to take a last glimpse at the information-net while loading his gun, even as he would hope that he wouldn't have to use it.

The gun…

Haltingly, Logan's fingers glided over the cool, smooth metal of his wheel rims, searching for some kind of distraction to that disturbingly alluring option a gun provided to someone who didn't give a damn about his life. The rims were gripped hard, pushed upon, as callused hands set the chair into a swaying motion, first swinging softly from side to side, as if cradling himself, then harder and harder until eventually his leg was banged onto the desk, again and again. Each hit evoked a soft thud, a dull vibration in his upper body – but nothing, not even the slightest sign of protest from his insensitive leg. Numb, paralyzed, useless… as good as dead.

Coming to a sudden decision, Logan stopped the swaying to reach over and, with a decisive movement, opened the drawer containing the gun-case. Carefully he took the gun from its box, watching it closely for a moment, before, with a precise, well-practiced motion, he loaded the bullet that appeared to be the answer to all his problems.

Only a little pull on the trigger and everything would be over. No more tiredness and exhaustion, limiting his every move and thought, no longer being mocked by the nagging impression that Eyes Only merely amused those who should be intimidated… no more dinners with Max anymore, reminding him that they had been so close to become real, equal partners before he had been minimized again to be only a good friend, trustworthy but broken. Just a little, effortless movement of his finger and the intricate mass of muscles, nerves and bones forming Logan Cale would cease to exist …

Not anymore…

Slowly Logan directed the barrel of the gun into his face, the words playing over and over again in his head. They sounded like a promise.

No longer…

Then something awakened him from his hazy stupor, a drip of water coming from the floor above. He reacted as if on autopilot: go up to investigate, call the ambulance upon seeing Mrs. Moreno lying on the floor, comfort her with a smile and some gently chiding words, explain to the paramedics what happened – all the wile acting like the reliable neighbor Mrs. Moreno knew and not like a man who was about to commit suicide.

On the short elevator-ride down to penthouse level the gun somehow didn't seem like such a glorious solution anymore. Nothing had changed, the thought of spending decade after decade as a paraplegic still triggered nothing but fear and weariness in Logan… but the gratitude on Mrs. Moreno's face unknowingly piercing his self-centered bubble of hopeless exhaustion had sobered him up for an instant. Now there was trace of resistance from the formerly muted voice of reason speaking up and sensibly whispering to him that such a decision between life and death shouldn't be made rashly but deserved to be considered from all sides.

All he had to do was to overcome this hint of doubt and go straight back to the waiting gun to finish the job…

Just some more time to think, that was what he needed, Logan mused as he stared down at his well-worn loafers with a cynical smirk. One way or the other, he wouldn't leave any traces on these shoes anymore, whether he killed himself or was sitting in this chair for the rest of his life.

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The first thing he heard as he pushed himself through his door with slow, weary strokes was Max's voice frantically calling his name. An instant later she had rushed out of his office, eyes taking him in with an unvarnished expression of fear and relief, as she swooped down beside the chair to pull him into a desperate hug. He had given in, bringing her closer with surprising strength as he allowed that, for a short moment, the ever-present distance between them was bridged by Max's worries and his own dire need to feel another living human being.

Logan would have liked to stay like this forever, to just tip down his head a bit a more so it would rest on her shoulder and to breathe in her sweet-smelling hair until he fell asleep…

How could the gun be the right decision when hugging her felt so good? Wasn't having Max enough to carry on?

Then, in a sharp pang, reality hit him and stiffened his body away from Max's softness: They couldn't be more than this. An amiable hug was the closest he could come to Max. Hiding the sickening disappointment beneath a non-committal everyday-face, Logan pushed away from Max to wheel over to the office where he put away the gun with a casual gesture – whether it was only to hide it from Max's eyes, or for good, Logan didn't know.

However, he didn't want to scare Max. She deserved to be happy and shouldn't be bothered with his problems. So, as she asked about Mrs. Moreno, her oddly intense look showing clearly that the old lady was only her second priority right now, Logan found himself making a promise almost despite himself. "She'll be fine", he stated, lending his voice a calm, easy note that had its sole source and purpose in comforting her.

Max answered with a serious smile, seeming to understand that his words had yet another, coded meaning, a promise that _he_ would be fine. He wasn't in the least sure whether he would be able to keep his vow – but maybe he could give it another try, think about it again – for Max. In this instant though, some soothing words and a little smile were all he could give her.

For Max, however, this didn't seem to be enough. Her own smile replaced by a tight expression of unease, she averted her gaze for a glassy-eyed scrutinizing of the smooth surface of his desk, studiously avoiding the spot where the gun had laid, as if a mere look could bring it back.

Logan could imagine what was going on in her head. Even though she had covered up her panic with the well-practiced ease of someone who was used to hiding her emotions, Max's shock was still tangible in her whole uncharacteristically quiet bearing. She must be trying to figure out how to help, wanting to ask why he wished to kill himself, maybe wanting to yell at him for being so stupid. She wanted him to open up to her.

It was exactly what Logan wanted to avoid, afraid that his earlier fears might come true.

Wishing she would just go and leave him alone, Logan pretended to be focused on one of his computer screens, until finally the awkward silence became too heavy, causing him to throw her a cautious, guarded glance out of the corner of his eye.

In a slow, hesitant turn of her head Max chose the same instant to look up and meet his eyes with a strange stare of determination and insecurity, seemingly undecided whether to broach the topic which was standing between them like a ghost, invisible but haunting.

Logan flinched, abruptly jerking around to sluggishly operate the chair in the direction of the nearest window where he parked at one of his familiar brooding spots, his back to Max. Slowly closing his eyes to protect them from the blinding rays of the low-standing sun, Logan unsuccessfully tried to banish the memory of Max's face creasing worriedly at his uncoordinated movements, dictated by tiredness and exhaustion. She had regarded him as if he was a fragile piece of porcelain that had to be treated with utmost care.

He was shutting her out, behaving like an inconsiderate idiot and treating her like an unwanted intruder. Logan was aware that his erratic attitude must be irritating, even hurting her… and yet, right now, he felt utterly unable to deal with Max's worry for him on top of everything else. It was easier to keep her at arms-length, better not to let her see his failures. It was the right thing…

His strategy worked. With an odd mix of relief and guilt Logan could hear how, after another attempt to trick him into a conversation, Max sneaked out and closed the door behind her with a nearly unperceivable click.

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After she was gone, he stared out windows, gaze unfocused, unmoving, watching the sun go down over the city with an odd feeling of disconnectedness. He didn't seem to belong to the world anymore.

What would have changed if he'd gone through with it, if he had pulled the trigger and put a bullet through his brain? Was there anybody for whom his death would cause such a deep, genuine grief that was worth giving up the alluring thoughts of ending it all? A grim smile crossed Logan's face. He had more fingers on one hand than persons that were close enough to him to really care. To his family he was a loser; his death would only prove their firm belief that 'Junior' failed with everything he touched. The only grief his death would cause them was the rumors and gossiping that would follow the suicide of a Seattle Cale. Bennett was the only exception, a genuinely kind person among all that false friendliness – but somehow their relationship had weakened over the years, had gone from once being as close as brothers to the awkward politeness of relatives seeing each other only at the holidays. No, Bennett wouldn't feel much more than faint regret at hearing of the suicide of his older, broken cousin.

If there was a person who deserved to be called a friend it was Bling, who was far more than only a capable physical-therapist or a valued bodyguard… In his own quiet and assuring way he had become Logan's confidant, the single person in whose presence he felt safe to reveal a fragment of the real Logan every now and then. However, Logan assured himself, in his stoic way of dealing with life, Bling wasn't a person to worry about. Logan had never seen him lose his composure, not even when one of his long-term patients had died unexpected and too young some weeks before. Bling surely would deal with the death of his friend with the same seemingly unshakable calm that dominated his every move.

Then there was Max, the enigmatic, stunningly beautiful young woman, full of surprises and wit. With her, the impact of his death was the most difficult to judge. For reasons unknown to Logan she had chosen to become his friend, making it a welcomed habit to keep him company when she could have been partying with her friends at Crash. Logan didn't doubt that she cared and considered him a reliable part of her life. Even now he found it hard to play down a twinge of guilt and nagging shame for considering an option which would hurt Max, the person who counted most. However, seen from a purely objective, reasonable angle, in the long run it would be best for Max if he wasn't around. If he was dead, there would be one less factor to keep her in Seattle, as she no longer would feel committed to be protection, legs and support to her older friend.

Sure, she might be devastated at first upon finding his body, and Logan wished he had enough energy to spare her this pain. In the long run, however, Logan reasoned himself into accepting the unpleasant truth, Max would get over him. Soon she would meet someone new who could give her all the things that were denied to him. She would find someone who could make her happy.

Bracing himself with sore arms that shortly had enjoyed the luxury of forgetting the weight of his body, Logan shifted uncomfortably in his chair to find a position that would ease the stiffness and tension without triggering another wave of pain radiating upwards from his numbed lower back. He could have cried out loud with disappointment, sadness and frustration at the biting contrast between his sorry state now and the high, exuberant mood only days before when he had felt like 'anything and everything' was possible.

It just wasn't fair. Finally he had been able to prove Max that he could be a whole, worthy partner, one who could run with her when Manticore was closing in. He had been so close to making the decisive move to transform their friendship into a romance, that evening when Zack's call had interrupted them. Full of hope and silly plans for their future, he had prepared everything to perfection… dinner, wine, candles. He had even given his clothes that obsessive bit of extra-attention at which he normally scoffed as superficial, all to show her that the look of encouraging flirtation in her eyes was mutual.

It hadn't lasted, couldn't be real. Just when they had been caught in a blissful moment of flirtatious banter, his legs had started to give out on him, effectively crushing his mood from giddy anticipation to sickening self-hatred. Not wanting Max to witness his weakness, Logan had covered his weakened leg with a show of true Logan Cale cranky-ness. He had shut her out, destroying the tender beginnings of something which couldn't work and only would disappoint both of them the moment when Max realized what exactly a spinal cord injury involved.

A relationship wouldn't be fair to her while he was in the chair. He had nothing to offer, would only tie her to a place she should have left months ago at the first signs of Lydecker spotting her. From a neutral point of view, his death would be a good thing for Max.

She would leave Seattle, the place which had been Logan's home for his whole life… Here he had spend year after year to help all those who hadn't been born with the privileges of being a Cale, first as a journalist, then even broadening his efforts with Eyes Only. He had risked his life and freely handed out his money to buy documents, homes or a new start for those in need…

Had he left an imprint on the city, on its people? What would they think about the abrupt change in their TV-program when the 'last free voice' of Seattle suddenly would be gone? Would they miss the feeling of knowing somebody cared for them? Surely one of them thought back in gratitude to his anonymous savior and would feel regret, disappointment or even sadness if he somehow learned of his death…

But he was fooling himself, again falling prey to his old belief that the energy of a single person could make a difference against Seattle's aristocracy of crooked thugs ruling a mass of indifferent people. Burying his face in his hands, Logan forced himself to finally grow up and say goodbye to his childish superhero-fantasies. It was stupid to believe those people would even notice if he was gone. No, the world wouldn't be any different without Logan Cale.

………To be continued……….


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer**: See previous chapters

**A/N**: Sorry about the delay, in case anybody cares… RL, several computer-crashes…

Big thanks for the reviews and…

...huge thanks to Shywr1ter for betaing and being very patient with my more than nitpicky questions (Do I get that Queen of nitpickiness-title now?:-). All remaining errors are mine, of course… and if you find them please tell me.

Oh, and for once it's a rather short chapter, I'm soo proud of myself:-)

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**Logan's penthouse, 11:10 PM**

As the sun went down over Seattle, slowly sinking lower to leave the city to its misery, Logan was lost in a blur of apathetic staring, caught in a haze of countless hours in which he tried to oppress any thoughts, afraid that they might lead him back to the desk, back to the gun. He felt so numb, tired and exhausted, was willing and ready to die… but there was this promise he'd given to Max. It left him hesitating to do that final, irreversible move, despite all his hopeless attempts at convincing himself that she would be better off without him.

Then, suddenly, without a knock or any other noise, and just when his thoughts had wandered again to her panicked reaction that afternoon, Max was back, and this time she didn't let him get away with a halfhearted 'I'm fine' and some dismissive gestures. She prodded and poked, looked scared and vulnerable and mad as hell as she gave up all their comfortable pretenses, until eventually his weakened defenses crumbled and he gave her what she wanted.

He didn't want to lose her, and so he called her back when her hand already was on the door handle, ready to bold, afraid that if he let her go now she might walk out of his life and never come back. As she turned in uncharacteristic hesitance, their eyes connected, and, while guardedness and resignation shielded Logan's more treacherous emotions from her dangerous compassion, he found himself saying things he never had told anybody, never had wanted to share. He told her about the pitying stares, his uncle's eternal disapproval, about how he had disappointed every single person in his life… finally spilling the painful truth: he was a failure, better off dead.

It all had came out, leaving him drained and empty, muted by the nagging thought that from now on, every moment with Max would be spoiled, her formerly so welcome sight transformed into a sickening reminder of his embarrassing breakdown. Unable to face Max any longer, Logan had dropped his gaze onto his lap, intently focusing on a wrinkle in his otherwise perfectly smooth slacks.

And yet, as the awkward silence stretching between them left him disturbingly clueless about Max's reaction, Logan couldn't help but lift his head for a cautious examination of her face, expecting to see her cringing in disgust or pity or another dreaded emotion. Almost despite himself, he found himself staring at her yearningly, gaze drawn up by a childlike craving to find comprehension, to hear her soft voice say something like 'It's okay, Logan. I understand'.

Max's face, however, was unreadable. As he continued watching her with a foolish longing that was stronger than the shame for his break-down, Logan couldn't decipher any emotion on her even expression, nothing but stunned surprise. He couldn't blame her; it was an apt reaction for seeing who the oh-so-noble Logan Cale really was.

Watching Max out of the corner of his eye, Logan almost could hear his uncle's acid voice, mocking him, calling him pathetic and self-pitying and useless. As hard as he tried, as long as it had been since he'd left the Cale mansion, Logan had never been able to escape his uncles disapproval, could inwardly hear his belittling judgment every time he acted against Jonas' values, effectively catapulting him back to the time of his uncle's harsh indoctrination. "Nobody wants to put up with a whining weakling", this was what he'd told Logan, as he had been standing by his parents' graves on a cold and windy Seattle day, to watch his father's coffin being lowered into the muddy hole which only two years before had swallowed his mother. It was only a childhood memory, one that long ago had softened and faded… yet right now, as he was so close to ending his own life, it felt as if he was eleven again, stifling strangled sobs and feeling utterly lost and alone among his aunt, uncle and a mass of strangers he'd never seen.

His uncle's words hadn't been more than a hiss, his voice hushed so nobody would overhear their exchange, but nevertheless, their unyielding harshness had been enough to effectively mute Logan, to make sure that he never showed his grief in front of his uncle again. Soon it had become second nature to Logan to show the world only the successful student, the cocky, self-assured bachelor, the driven journalist. He had been okay with it, hadn't really missed anything, never felt the need to let anyone see his inner core and most secret thoughts. Only twice he'd briefly, tentatively opened up… in that short period where he'd thought that Daphne might be the one, and then later, in his marriage, before Val had started drowning her problems in booze, leaving him to watch helplessly and think that, maybe, it was all his fault.

Then Max had come along, demanding to know why he'd created Eyes Only and spent his evenings alone behind a desk, solving other people's problems. In a voice that carried incomprehension she declared him to be crazy and obsessed, watching him with veiled curiosity… and maybe, just maybe, the tiniest bit of admiration. Involuntarily she had slipped behind his defenses, like him reluctant to get involved too much – but still coming back with unfailing regularity and hardly ever turning down his offers for dinner. Sometimes, when they were sitting together, chatting comfortably over the safe distance of the chess board, or even when she was yelling at him for obsessing with work, Logan had caught himself thinking what it would be like to show Max a little more: to tell her a funny story about his parents or a not so funny story about his uncle, to let her in about how helpless he felt when she was out there risking her life… He fantasized about asking her over for another dinner to tell her, while she was under the spell of candles and wine, how much she meant to him. But just as soon as these thoughts emerged they were dismissed with brutal force, squashed as ridiculous daydreams that could never come true.

How could Max possibly understand what it was like to be him? To Max, who started her life with literally nothing, and who was living proof of physical perfection and unbreakable willpower, his tale about the bored rich kid with the messed-up life must have sounded like self-pitying whining.

'Stupid fool'. Those were the words echoing in his head as he risked another defeated glance at Max, who was still sitting motionless on the sofa with a lost, faraway expression, surely considering how to let him down easily. Any moment now, he thought, watching her with resigned anticipation, she would stand up and walk out of his life, repulsed by her short glimpse of the real Logan.

Max, however, surprised him once more. In a voice that in its soothing resoluteness triggered an almost forgotten memory of his mother comforting him over a nightmare, she set him straight. She stated that he was not a failure, declared with solemn determination how she found him worthy of affection, that she stayed in Seattle just because of him.

It was exactly what he had hoped for – and yet, even though she erased his fears, confirmed his dreams, Logan found it impossible to believe her. His protective shell of distant solitude was up again, hard and unyielding, and not even Max's astonishing admissions were enough to crack it. So his only reaction after she stopped talking was a simple nod. Maybe she'd really meant her words… in all likelihood, though, this was just another one of those situations which would be downplayed as an embarrassing emotional outburst tomorrow. Just like the kiss in front of the cabin. But he didn't want to think of that bittersweet moment now. Instead he focused his gaze on Seattle's nightly myriad of lights which offered a welcome distraction from the inevitable fact that, whatever had happened tonight, tomorrow they would be back to normalcy, that tomorrow all that alluring closeness would have evaporated like treacherous fog.

He so wanted to believe her – even if only so she would see that he was worthy of her attention and continuing visits, worthy of all the emotional turmoil she had been going through tonight because of him – but he couldn't. Logan knew the situation, this 'mind over matter'. He had been tricked by it before, the days around his nearly fatal surgery when they had been forced apart with brutal abruptness, she running like a hunted animal for the next station of her never-ending escape, he left behind because he was unable to keep up with her, unsure even to survive the next day. Then however, coming completely unexpected when Logan already had thought that Max's sadly retreating back would be his last memory of her, that kiss had happened. It had been shared through the open car window, spoiled by the sickening knowledge that that this was their last chance… with only the prospect of never seeing the other again letting them dare to cross the line from friends to lovers. The kiss… it must have triggered that dream of a magnificently lit ballroom where it was possible to overcome the reality of his severed spinal cord with an act of sheer willpower, just because Max uttered a simple 'Mind over matter'

It was a memory he cherished, only rarely allowing himself the sweet torture of playing it over in his head, afraid that the pictures of Max in her ivory gown might wear out like an over-used videotape… sternly telling his more hopeful self that the infatuated look in her eyes hadn't been real then and never would be.

Then the impossible had happened. Mind over matter had come true, not by Max's words but by her blood. His legs had reacted again to the orders of his brain, proving his worthiness for Max. Suddenly, everything had changed, and they had found themselves in a miraculous world of flirtatious smiles and happiness.

It hadn't held, couldn't have held. All he had left now was the cruelly mocking memory of how his life could have been if only Bruno's had bullet missed. 'Mind over matter' was just an alluring illusion. The past several days had proven that with unmistakable clarity, and Logan wouldn't fall for it for a third time. With all this in mind he listened to Max's affirmations, grateful that she was here, sorry to have shaken her so much, but steeling himself against her words so he wouldn't be lured into trusting them too much. He didn't want to have his hopes shattered again, not now in this sorry state.

Logan had done his best to protect himself from falling too deeply for her, stubbornly reminding himself of his brokenness whenever his mind had wandered off. He had failed miserably, from the very beginning unable to resist Max. He'd smiled at her like an idiot, used her cat-burglar abilities as an excuse for paging her… every now and then he even had allowed himself a lighthearted moment of easy banter and forgetting that he couldn't hope for more than a purely platonic friendship between the guy in the wheelchair and the young beauty with the perfect body. It just couldn't be.

And yet it was. Suddenly, Max was beside him, her arms enfolding his body, gentle but firm. Logan was almost startled by her sudden presence, having already spiraled back into his former gloomy brooding as he forced her impossible affirmations out of his mind together with that madly insistent spark of hope they'd ignited.

Despite all his well-practiced rituals of denial – here she was, so close that the warmth of her body seeped through the layers of clothing separating them, making him realize in sudden surprise that he actually had been freezing. Even while his mind busily insisted that the only purpose of her words had been to lure him away from his suicidal edge, Max's body was pressed against his, feeling good and right, comforting him despite his resolution not to be affected by anything she did. And so, after an instant of hesitation, he gave in, mimicking her gesture as he tentatively returned her embrace.

Max was here. She had chosen him over an evening with her friends or of cruising the deserted streets. As hard as he found it to believe her words, as much as he fought her confession in his fear that she might take it back eventually, this time he didn't shove Max away, afraid that if he moved and broke the spell of the moment he would be alone in the silent penthouse again, with the gun as his only company. Just for this moment Logan allowed himself to be comforted by Max's warmth, holding her close while his overtired brain still was unable to fully process what she'd said.

She was an amazing person. As he took in her fresh, soapy scent, Logan felt a tender rush of gratitude toward Max. Deep down she cared so much for those around her, despite her tough lonely warrior attitude, despite her constant remarks about not being human. She, who could have her pick of every single male in Seattle, was here with him, clinging onto his body as if it was she who so desperately neeeded comforting, seemingly not taken aback at all by the chair or his earlier words. She was here. Logan didn't know from where he took the courage or even the idea to do so, but somehow, suddenly his fingers started stroking Max's back, gentle, hesitant – touching her as if to assure himself of her continued presence, as if to confirm to Max that he was still alive.

………….. To be continued …………


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: See previous chapters.

Huge thanks to Shywr1ter for finding mistakes and preventing this from becoming a long rambling something. All remaining mistakes are mine.

I'll eat a broom if anybody remembers this story. Sorry for taking so incredibly long to update. Probably all you need to know is that Max and Logan ended in an embrace which is where this chapter starts…

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**Logan's Penthouse 12:05 AM**

As Logan gradually relaxed against her, finally giving in to their embrace that at first had been tentative and awkward, the calm and comfort missing between them in the past few days returned, offering Max a thrilling sense of belonging she had hardly ever experienced before.

Even in the usual, comfortable warmth of the penthouse he felt cold, chilled like somebody long gone to the place where nothing mattered anymore. His icy fingers were dead weight on her back, conjuring a ferocious image of how the day might have ended: Logan with the gun in his hand, limp, hollow, eyes broken. It made Max press him closer, needing to feel his reassuringly steady breath, willing to share her body heat as if it was the medium for all the other things that were so hard to say.

But for once so much had been said already, soothing the tension and worry that had torn them apart ever since Logan's legs had started to fail again. It lent the silence between them an almost peaceful air, at least for this short, undisturbed moment when neither of them dared to think of the future.

Finally, not bothering to lift her chin off his chest, Max spoke, calm and slow as she eventually found the resolution to voice the emotion niggling at her every time she'd seen him lately. "I'm so sorry Logan. You know that, right?"

It was what she had wanted to tell him ever since the moment she'd learned that the cure wouldn't last, that soon he would be back in the despised chair. But Logan had shut her out, refusing all help in getting through the pain which the failure of her blood had caused.

For all Max knew, 'I'm sorry' were the appropriate words for his situation… but even she, with her limited knowledge of human relationships, was aware that they could hold so many different meanings. No matter how sincerely she meant them, those words could be heard by Logan as nothing but minimizing pity or a polite, empty formula. Every time 'I'm sorry' had been on her lips in the last week, Max had held herself back, afraid that Logan in his stubbornness and hurt macho pride would have been unable to see her words as genuine empathy and honest concern.

Now it was different. For a few seconds there was no reaction at all from him, not even a flinch, making Max wonder if he'd even heard her. Finally a deep breath filled Logan's chest, bringing him even closer for a second, before her statement was acknowledged with a soft, murmured "I know," his warm breath tickling the top of her head.

Then they drifted back into their silence, unwilling to break their embrace and go back to normalcy. Once more adjusting her breathing pattern to his, in avoidance of everything that might startle him away, Max pondered how easily Logan had accepted her words. Before they had always been a breach of his personal space, touching something upon which she wasn't allowed to comment.

She had said it before, the "I'm sorry," that first time she'd visited him after the shooting when she'd observed him sitting among his computers. He looked like a different man now than the one she'd encountered three month earlier.

_All flirting playfulness __was gone, his work his only focus, the only thing legitimating his existence. His alter ego had taken over, an oddly controlled person whose only purpose was saving the world, a man who now welcomed her with only a barely visible shrug, that dangerously boyish smile seemingly having died from disuse. _

_Max had almost turned to leave that moment, feeling like an intruder unworthy of his time... unworthy even of his cheap, over the top flattery showered on her before._ _However much she'd disliked his arrogant cockiness and manipulations, it had been better than this lifeless, subdued determination that concentrated on everything but his own life._

_She was sorry that he had been so severely injured, sorry that she hadn't been there to prevent it, sorry for the emotional damage almost as evident as the physical one… and without thinking she said it aloud, hoping that one single term could carry all these emotions… afraid that it would reveal too much._

_Logan d__ismissed her cautious display of empathy with another shrug of noncommittal casualness, pretending things were okay and even had a higher purpose, when his whole bearing spoke of the contrary. _

_Somehow, inexplicably, Max __wanted to call him onto it, irritated by this contradiction between his words and other, more subtle signals…. but she didn't. It would have established a level of intimacy she'd never had with anyone before, an intimacy Max didn't want to have with this stranger, whose motives were so contradictory to all the things Manticore and life had taught her. And so she held back and watched him struggle, stubborn and alone. _

_As Logan lectured her about the lost pleasures of better times – seemingly unaware that she never had a chance to experience them – Max was left wondering what his mother would think if she saw how her son used her words as a shield from the world._

There had been so many moments since, when she had wanted to reach out to him… when his usually calm manner became sharp and rough, almost violent, betraying his frustration about Max doing the errands he couldn't perform anymore, when he snapped at Bling for reminding him of his reps, when at first it seemed that her transfusion wouldn't work… But any words of regret and compassion had been made impossible by her knowledge that Logan would misunderstand and hate her for reminding him of what he saw as his failure. And so Max hadn't said anything, not until this afternoon when, with the knowledge that she had brought death to the one person who could keep him on his legs, the "I'm sorry" had just slipped out. And again she'd been dismissed, Logan pretending to be okay while probably in the same instant already knowing that his life wasn't worth living anymore.

Max had forcefully intruded into his desperation, taking the risk that he would just kick her out for prying his anxiously guarded fears from him in a way only possible in his emotionally battered state. Yet somehow things had worked out, their issues acknowledged and accepted… and here they were, ready to go back to normal.

Max knew that she should just stand up, should retreat to their usual distance allowing no other physical contact but a rare, accidental touch or an occasional brush of their hands. She felt guilty for enjoying the pressure of his chest against hers, was aware that being in his arms shouldn't feel so good when he was tired and exhausted and had just lived through an attempted suicide.

She knew that Logan wasn't in a state to make a sensible decision, that she shouldn't do anything both of them would regret later… and still Max's hands left their safe, chaste position on his back to slowly wander upwards, inching up in a slow, hesitant movement. For a moment she could feel the rough wool of his sweater scratching her fingers, then it was replaced by the warm, smooth skin where his clothing ended. Her right hand sneaked up his neck with just the lightest, strangely electrifying touch until finally her fingers encountered the first strands of short, soft-free hair …

For a moment Logan tensed against her, breath skipping in surprise. Then, suddenly, his lips were on hers, hers on his, neither of them knowing how it started. It didn't matter anymore. Now all that counted was the roughness of Logan's stubble-covered face, the softness of Max's lips, tasting the other in a kiss that in its intensity resembled their first. It was strong and demanding, full of lingering questions and a prickling newness that lacked the quiet indulgence of a long-grown familiarity or the playful seduction that came with being sure of the other's reaction.

It wasn't the longest kiss in the world, nor the most spectacular – but it was theirs and it felt as tender and mind-numbing as both remembered. It was enough to let Max believe maybe fairy tale ending was possible even for a transgenic fighting machine, long enough for Logan to start believing that the state of his legs really didn't matter to her.

Of course they were interrupted, just like every time they had gathered the courage to let the other in a bit more. However, this time it wasn't a brother in need or Max hunted by the whole city of Seattle, just simply the noisy growl of their bodies simultaneously announcing the long-neglected need for food. Max could feel Logan's lips twist into a smile as he pulled away from her. He even laughed, a calmingly deep, delightfully sparkling sound reminding her of his surprising giddiness in the short time his legs had been working.

He didn't give Max any opportunity to further study his reaction. Instead – head bowed – he immediately turned his chair to slowly move into the direction of the kitchen. As the feeling of Logan's warm skin waned into a memory, the only thing left to Max was antsy insecurity… until finally his voice filled the room, strong and warm, matching the teasing yet distant tone that had been theirs for all these months. "So… seems like you're hungry?"

Now there was something else in his voice, a hint of light, carefree boyishness. It was only a trace … and yet it was enough to let this new kind of relationship seem almost as natural as the before, allowing Max to answer in a tone that matched his exactly. "So, I guess you'll feed me…?"

Then she followed him, telling herself that the only reason for this strangely fluttering, lightheaded feeling came from having knelt beside him for so long.

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Their meal was an unsettling mix of calm and awkwardness, nerve-fluttering tension mingling with the usual comfort of preparing food. Any eye contact was carefully avoided, as if a single look would shatter their new, brittle togetherness. Only once their hands touched, sparking an electrifying tingling that would have to serve as a poor substitute until they dared to share another kiss.

Logan still didn't watch her as they finally sat down to eat. Max, however, observed him closely, anxiously looking out for every little sign, any indication that he might be falling back into his former depressed state. Knowing Logan, she didn't trust this outward calm, knew that some talking and a kiss wouldn't just dissolve the emotional baggage of decades.

However, there were no signs to make her worry. He simply seemed exhausted, his hands lacking their usual swiftness as they performed the routine moves. Now, as Logan finally allowed himself to relax, the exhaustion of the last days finally seemed to catch up with him – hour after hour without proper rest, first kept awake from excitement and cherishing every moment of newfound sensation… then by the nagging fear that even in the short time span of a night all functionality in his legs would be gone.

And still, even in this extreme situation, it had never been his physical exhaustion that had Max concerned in first place. Unlike his confusingly intricate tangle of self-hatred and feelings of unworthiness, a long night of good sleep and some restful days would fix his fatigue. It was something easily taken care of. And so Max felt herself smile gently, watching Logan chew with the deliberate concentration of someone too tired even for eating, wondering if he would just fall asleep during their meal.

Finally he had finished his sandwich, staring mindlessly at his empty plate. Max observed him for another moment, swallowing a faint smile together with the last bite of bread. Then, without further thinking, she suggested the obvious. "Go to bed, Logan."

He looked up, seemingly as surprised as Max was herself at her quiet, softly caring voice. Always before this tone had been reserved for her siblings. It hadn't been used in a long time, sounded almost like the voice of somebody else.

At first it seemed as if Logan would fight her, his narrowing eyes telling her in effective wordlessness that he considered the idea of being sent to bed like a little boy – like an invalid – to be an insult to his dignity. His gaze rested on her for long seconds, surprise changing into cool, appraising contemplation of her motives. Then his expression softened, with a sigh morphing into something like quiet understanding as he just turned around and without a word disappeared into the direction of his bedroom

As soon as the door had closed behind him, a fidgeting nervousness overtook Max. The task of getting Logan to eat and rest was accomplished, her work here done, and with its completion came the insecurity of what she was supposed to do now. As she busied her hands with cleaning the kitchen there was only one thing of which she was sure: she didn't want to leave. She didn't want to take any risks by Logan being alone tonight. Moreover, intuition told Max that leaving now might endanger the fragile beginnings of their relationship, would give them another opportunity later on to once more downplay their feelings as an embarrassing emotional outburst.

Unable to stand still, Max started to prowl through the apartment, all the while listening to the muffled sounds of Logan getting ready for bed from that part of the apartment she busily avoided. Nevertheless, a good while after the sound of his shower had stopped, she ended up at his bedroom door, fixing the handle with a glassy stare as if its shiny metal would tell her what to do. She hesitated to go in, just as she had earlier that day when she had stood before the Penthouse's door, unsure what she would find. It just didn't seem right to go in there, as if his bedroom was a room like any other and act with a familiarity and intimacy they didn't have… yet.

Finally Max willed her fist to knock, her knuckles connecting with the wooden barrier with more force than necessary. Upon his quiet, husky "Yeah", coming almost immediately, she hesitantly entered.

Logan was in bed, still with his glasses on and the comforter just barely covering his hips, as if he'd just settled in and was about to make himself comfortable. Unsure of his reaction, unable to formulate her wish to see him in a way that wouldn't sound silly, Max concentrated on all the little details around the room, everything but him. There was the humid scent of soap, matching the special rosy glow on his face, making him look healthier than he had in days, the bright white of his shirt contrasting with the slight tan of his bare arms on which the faintest traces of goose-bumps had started to form as he cooled down from his shower….

But she couldn't just stand there forever and so eventually, with another rush of tickling nervousness, Max lifted her head to meet Logan's even gaze, somewhere in the back of her mind noticing how much younger he looked now that he'd shaved off his stubble.

He seemed insecure, even embarrassed, at having her in here, gaze flickering down quickly as if he had to guard his fidgeting hands from doing something stupid.

Max understood. He had willingly opened up every aspect of his life but this, giving her a growing familiarity of every corner of the penthouse except for his bedroom. It was as off-limits as were her romantic little fantasies.

And still, despite knowing this, and respecting his need for privacy, Max wanted to stay. She wanted to be in here where it was warm and cozy and where she had the calm company of someone who would understand if only she wanted to talk. As Max starred at spiky silhouette of the Space Needle, mocking her from the distance, she wondered when exactly the evening had become about more than just keeping Logan away from his gun. Somehow, in this instant, all she could think about were the consequences the last hours might have on her own life. She could just go back out there, slipping into another night of cold, moist solitude that lead into another day of hiding her true self behind the façade of someone less bright and able… or she could be here, with Logan, the person who accepted her just like she was, never failing to seeing the human in her despite all the abnormal traits setting her apart. It was a decision that, deep down, had been made a long time ago, slowly growing into conscious knowledge over the last months. And now, finally, she had found the courage to act upon it.

"Would you mind…", Max stopped at the slight echo of her voice, suddenly overly aware that this was the first thing said since the few words exchanged during their meal. "Would you mind if I just sat there for a while?" She nodded to a wide armchair standing halfway between his bed and the window, looking comfortable and worn-out and somehow out of place in between his otherwise new, well-chosen furniture.

Logan seemed surprised at her query, squinting at her with a mix of confusion and silent amusement, as if she was a riddle he couldn't quite figure out. Then, however, he simply shrugged his consent, even added a hushed "sure", together with an inviting wave of his hand when she didn't move immediately. As she settled in the chair, the corners of Logan's mouth twitched upwards with something that resembled the beginning of a smile before it broke apart into a tight, nervous grin.

No more words were exchanged, other than a quiet, almost timid "Good night" while Logan settled down to lie on his side. His back was to her, as if he needed some kind of distance after all the emotional upheaval of the day.

So they drifted away, Logan into what looked like genuinely peaceful sleep, Max losing herself in pondering observation of the soothingly familiar pattern of lights outside.

Only after a good while, when his deep, slow breathing and steady heartbeat assured her that he was fast asleep, Max dared to turn her head into the direction of the bed. Sinking deeper and deeper into the armchair, as its comfortable softness promised to swallow all her worries, she watched Logan for a long time, feeling like she never wanted to leave this place again.

He was on his back now, his face halfway buried in the soft pillow and framed by one arm bent over his head in a gesture of complete relaxation. Max smiled softly at the picture, feeling the urge to just reach out and touch him. Logan, the person who had blocked her with a harsh 'We're not like that', now trusted her to see him at his most vulnerable. This alone was so much more than Max had ever hoped for when coming back today. All she had wanted was some kind of promise that he would stay away from the gun, only to make him see that his failing legs hurt her only because it hurt him, that the chair didn't change her feelings. Now it seemed like there could be more, that they might share something resembling peace, maybe even a bit of happiness. It might not be forever, might end as soon as tomorrow from enemies catching up with Eyes Only and the transgenic super soldier, or just their over-sensitive personalities crashing over some minor issue and recoiling in hurt…

It would not be forever, might well be shorter than she hoped… and still, Max would take it for however long it would last.

With this thought she stood to walk over to the bed where, careful not to wake Logan, she curled up at the far end, her tender gaze taking in every part of him as if seeing him for the first time. Then Max closed her eyes and for the first time in her life just stopped worrying.

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